Hello World!Welcome to the life and chronicles of My Jersey Boys and me, B (the only girl who hangs out with them). Our original mission was to prove that not all of Jersey is obsessed with GTL. Now it's kind of become the place where we share our random thoughts, ridiculous stories, regular quote updates, and maybe a picture or video here and there. There's always something going on...

I can’t remember when I first met Scud. Regardless, all of my memories of him are from high school, and all of them are hilarious (at least we think so). Those of us who had the good fortune to be bystanders to Scud’s antics regularly reminisce about him. Whenever my college friends visit my NJ friends and I, the Scud Saga is my go-to ice breaker. Everybody can relate to his story. Even while writing this, my mind is burgeoning with excitement to relive the Scud Saga with myself. Unfortunately, I normally co-tell this story with C, who was the only witness to certain Scud stories. Although I will do my best to relive the Scud stories, the tale will be lacking the physical and audio imitations provided by C of Scud’s movements and voice (if you’ve seen “Scud Falls,” you already have an idea of Scud’s presence). Also, the stories may not be in chronological order. The time Scud almost killed me kind of shook up his story in my mind to the extent that Scud became a fleeting moment in my life, never to be seen again.

A quick background: Michael Scudero was born in Brooklyn, NY (I presume) at some point in the late 1980s. Anthropologists have spent years trying to narrow it down to a specific year, but as you can imagine, Scud’s existence is known more through word of mouth than by official documentation (other than a marriage certificate- more on that later). Scud was lovable but physically awkward. One of his arms was longer than the other (can’t remember which) which caused him problems in all aspects of physical movement: walking, running, standing, reaching. Additionally, Scud was oddly shaped: not particularly overweight but with fat layered non-uniformly across his body. He was far from graceful. Imagine a heavy dog with only 3 legs: definitely still lovable but prone to accidents. Although he was very strong, his coordination and athleticism were poor (not poor enough for my health unfortunately – more on that also later). Finally, Scud spoke in a heavy Italian accident which he picked up from years of living in Brooklyn. Although his speech pattern suggested otherwise, Scud was surprisingly intelligent.

Scud and C played football together for a few years (these are the stories that only C truly knows). One year, Scud did not show up for training camp on time. Rather than being angry at him for his absence, the team was amused that nobody had heard from Scud for the entire summer. He finally arrived weeks late for camp. He burst through the doors to the weight room, and before anybody could ask him where he’d been for months, Scud wailed his arms and shouted in his thick Italian accent, “I lost my virginity!” The room exploded into laughter, and Scud was welcomed warmly back to the team. Only Mike Scudero could miss 3 weeks of training camp without an explanation and suffer no punishment. Out of respect to Scud, I will not share wear Scud actually was, but use your imagination. Wherever he went, I didn’t notice any difference upon his return.

Another Scud story only C was a witness to: Scudero was driving C and a friend around town on a commercial highway. Sitting in the back seat, C pulled his pants down in an attempt to moon Scudero in his rear-view mirror. C told Scud that there was a cop behind him. Rather than use his mirror to look back, Scud turned his head and jammed his face into C’s ass. Scud screamed, flailed his arms, and let go off the wheel. The car shot through two lanes of traffic until C’s friend grabbed the wheel and prevented an accident just in time. I still don’t know why C agreed to be in a car while Scud was driving. Ask C when you see him.